


There is a Place Around the Corner (Where Your Dead Friends Live)

by PazithiGallifreya



Series: Carry That Weight [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-War, Severitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PazithiGallifreya/pseuds/PazithiGallifreya
Summary: Harry just wants to put it all behind him, but everyone seems determined to remind him. His father just wants him to focus on the evening's lesson, but that seems impossible tonight.The past will not rest peacefully for either of them, it seems.





	

 

Sweat poured down Harry's back. He was literally sliding backwards across the flagstones of the classroom now, the rubber soles of his shoes leaving marks streaked here and there across the floor. He took a deep breath and leaned forward into the block, focusing the magic flowing through his wand to a point in direct opposition to the simple blasting curse that his father held against him.

Snape was standing up straight, feet slightly apart, wand held loosely at shoulder height. He'd sustained the curse for several minutes now and Harry could sense no feeling of particular effort, much less fatigue. If anything, he was getting bored.

Harry sort of hated his guts at the moment. He lifted his left hand again and re-focused a small portion of his magic through his fingertips as he had been shown earlier in the evening, manipulating the shape and density of the energy within the blocking spell further, trying to get the magic into the correct parabolic configuration.

They had spent the entire evening on this one exercise. Done correctly, the blocking spell he was attempting would reflect the curse entirely, refocusing and amplifying it, and sending it back toward the caster. The best he'd managed so far was to put a few fresh divots in the stone walls. He had several bruises as well from those attempts that had resulted him being flung across the room instead. Even with Snape's quick reflexes and cushioning charms, he was feeling rather sore (and frustrated).

Harry was grinding his teeth at this point, pushing forward again. The curse snapped back, finally, the red arc of it flying slightly to the left of Snape.

His father stood back, looking across at Harry for a moment, assessing his performance. “Better, but not nearly good enough. You're entirely too distracted tonight, I can feel it plainly. That won't do. You need to focus your mind on the task at hand.”

Harry bit at his lip, trying not to lose his temper. Snape wasn't like he'd been in the past, certainly, but he wasn't about to turn into a cheerful Flitwick, either. His idea of encouragement still largely consisted of not outright insulting his own son, apparently.

Harry wiped a hand over his face. He'd tied his hair back before they began, but some of it had slipped loose and was damp with sweat and sticking uncomfortably against the side of his face. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it was nearly ten o'clock; they should have finished an hour ago.

Snape fished a handkerchief out of a pocket somewhere and tossed it in his direction. Harry caught it and stepped off to the side to slump into a desk and mop the sweat out of his eyes.

“You were doing much better on Tuesday. Girl trouble?”

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the jibe. “No, Ginny and I are just fine, thanks.”

Snape crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. “I expect better from you. Do you think those you will face when you begin your field work are going to care if you've had a bad day? This isn't a game, Harry. The only exam you will get these days is when you face someone who wants to kill you, and I need not say what the consequences will be if you fail.”

“I'm well aware of that, thanks.”

Snape's posture slackened somewhat. He waved his wand silently and stood back as desks rearranged themselves back into their normal classroom configuration, including the one occupied by Harry. Harry gripped the edge of the desk as he flew across the room for the umpteenth time that evening, but at least the landing was relatively gentle.

“You've got a bee in your bonnet, that much is obvious. Is it something worth all this distraction, then?”

Harry dropped the handkerchief on the desk and leaned back. He knew he had a habit of obsessing over whatever was bothering him, there was no point in denying it, but given what he knew of his father's ability to nurse a grudge, it was a bit rich for him to criticize like this.

They were both feeling annoyed, he could feel it from across the room. He didn't want to let this blow up. They'd had a couple of outright shouting matches over the last few months, but they were always such a waste of time and energy. Harry took several deep breaths, trying to let some of the tension bleed out.

It didn't help that he was perpetually exhausted these days. The Auror training program was intense to begin with, and the remedial instruction he was taking on top of the usual work, in several subjects to make up for his missed seventh year, had left him with practically no free time. Meanwhile, he was trying to figure out things with Ginny, but they could only meet on Hogsmeade Saturdays and exchange owl post. He'd more recently begun meeting Dudley for lunch occasionally or after work when he could. Their relationship couldn't exactly be called a friendship yet, but something about his cousin's complete change of heart gave him a sense of hope. He had a lot of reading to do in the evenings as well, and it felt like he was just crashing into bed each night and crawling out again in the morning without getting any rest.

Snape propped himself against the teacher's desk at the head of the classroom, glancing around as he gathered his thoughts, whatever they were. And letting Harry gather his, perhaps.

“It's just... I like Shacklebolt well enough, but lately he's just been... I dunno. Kind of demanding.”

Snape turned from where he was gazing out of the window to look at Harry directly. “I wasn't aware that he was directly involved with the Auror training?”

Harry shook his head. “He's not. It's not that. It's more... I don't know. He's asking.. favors. If you're not looking at the Prophet lately, I guess you wouldn't notice, but he's had some reporters in every few weeks and wants me to talk to them. Usually about the war, but sometimes other things. I don't think he's trying to take advantage of me exactly, but...”

Snape snorted. “Sounds exactly like he is. Does he hand you a script before he pushes you in front of Skeeter?”

“No. He doesn't invite Skeeter, he's not that stupid. There's no way I'd talk to her under any circumstances after what she's done and I've told Shacklebolt that already. He says he respects that.... but he also says that he wants me to help 'keep up morale' and 'reassure the public' or at least that's how he puts it. Everything's kind of weird right now, I guess, and he wants me to.... I guess just like he said – encourage people.”

“Is your continued employment contingent on providing these interviews?”

“No. He says it's just a favor but I'm not sure what he'd do if I refused. I don't think he'd fire me. I mean it's not like I'm against it, exactly, or him. He means well.”

“You're clearly uncomfortable with it, there's no point in pretending otherwise.” Snape waved a hand in the air, indicating what was between them, as if Harry could forget.

“I'm not saying... well, you know you always used to accuse me of wanting attention, but I hate it, actually. I really _hate_ it. I'm sick of thinking about everything all of the time. I just want to get on with my life, is that too much to ask?”

Snape shrugged, looking away and saying nothing. Harry could feel a twinge of something in him, maybe regret, or simply embarrassment at having been wrong about something. At least he wasn't going to argue, Harry thought.

Snape cleared his throat loudly and shifted a bit where was leaned on the desk. “Then why go along with it? Tell him you're no longer interested in giving the ministry free public relations services if you find it that odious a task.”

“I could I guess. But people seem to need it is all. I get people coming up to me all the damned time now, they just walk up and start telling me all these stories about someone they know that Voldemort or the Death Eaters killed or hurt. And then they want to thank me for 'everything' but I don't know why. It's like they all think I know everything. That I did everything. But I know I didn't. I keep saying that, it's not my victory, it's everyone's, if it's anyone's...”

Snape nodded silently, adding nothing. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, a lingering pain in his heart making itself known yet again.

“As victories go it was a bit shit, anyway. Too many people died. I didn't finish him off quickly enough. Wasted too much time...”

His father stood up and walked over to stand beside him. He said nothing, but there was no need to. It's not like they both hadn't had the same thoughts. The same sort of guilt. Harry spent a great deal of time avoiding this subject. Ginny had broached the topic a few times, trying to get him to open up about it, but he'd changed the subject immediately when she had, and she'd let it go, at least for the time being. He didn't want to think about it, much less talk about it, no matter how much she insisted that he'd be better off.

“So I guess I just feel like Shacklebolt has a point. So I do what he asks.”

Snape nodded. “You've been play-acting as the Ministry's personal cheerleader for months now, and it doesn't suit you, but you do it anyway, because you feel obligated. Why is it all of a sudden such a distraction _tonight_?”

Harry hesitated, wondering if he should even bring up the most recent problem with the Minister of Magic. It's not like he hated Shacklebolt – he didn't. He didn't even dislike the man. He was doing his best to keep things going and fix some of the damage, Harry understood that. He wasn't ungrateful, but he couldn't stop feeling like he was being forced into doing something he shouldn't, that he was being pushed into a role he didn't even deserve. He certainly didn't feel like a hero.

“Something else came up this morning. I asked him a question and got an answer I didn't care for, I suppose.”

“Which was?”

“You were doing rather poorly at the time, still, so I don't know if you remember, but the Ministry took what was left of Voldemort last May.”

“Minerva mentioned it, yes. And?”

“I'd told her earlier to tell the Ministry that I didn't want them putting it somewhere that might turn into some kind of shrine. I wanted it destroyed completely. Preferably incinerated. She told me that she'd passed along that request.”

“I take it they did not honor your request, then?”

“No.”

Snape sat down in another desk beside him, leaning back and stretching his legs out. “I'm not sure I want to know what they did with the bastard, but...”

“The Department of Mysteries.”

Snape's lip curled up in disgust. “What, have they been dissecting the damn thing down there? What the bloody hell do they expect to find out? Leave it to the Ministry of Magic to waste their time on...” Snape paused and turned to look at Harry beside him, his son's sudden distress filling up the space between them. “You're genuinely worried about this. You don't honestly think they are trying to-”

“-to make a Horcrux? I have no idea. Shacklebolt refused to tell me. Said point blank it was none of my business what went on in the Department of Mysteries and that he'd given me all the answer he owed me. I mean he acted like he was sympathetic but he still wouldn't say—he acted like it has nothing to do with me at all. Like Voldemort didn't murder my mother, murder loads of my friends, all those people...” Harry fisted the cloth of his robe under the desk, rage and grief both rising up within him again, as they had that morning.

Snape was staring at him openly, his mouth slack in surprise at the sudden intensity of Harry's emotions, blinking stupidly while Harry fought back genuine tears, doing everything he could to push the feelings back down into his shoes and put the calm mask back in place.

Snape shook his head, looking away. “The Ministry are still fools, then. There is nothing of any value they could glean from that corpse. If the Unspeakables are down there trying to crack Voldemort's methods of creating multiple Horcruxes...”

“Then the entire war we just fought was a complete waste of time, that's what. I don't want to do it again, I don't-” Harry shook his head emphatically, wanting to banish even the possibility.

Snape sighed wearily beside him. “I don't know what to tell you. If they won't listen to you, of all people, they certainly won't listen to an ex-Death Eater like myself. They might well be investigating some other aspect of it entirely. That body was constructed through Dark magic and I don't know that anything of that manner had been done in the past.”

“I'm not sure that's much better. Anyway I'm not asking you to intervene, but you did ask what the problem was.”

“Fair enough. I won't say that this isn't a troubling piece of news. But nonetheless, you've chosen a profession with the Ministry, which means dealing with their more questionable activities. Can you live with this?”

Harry sat for several minutes, finally giving the matter the consideration he'd been avoiding all day. He hadn't wanted to consider the option of leaving. He still wanted to be an Auror. It's not like he expected a perfect utopia once Voldemort was dead, or that politics would suddenly no longer matter. If he stayed, there was a chance he could still make his opinion known and have some influence. If he left, he'd have a harder time making himself heard.

And in the end, Harry still could not think of anything else he wanted to do with his life. He still wanted to be an Auror. “I suppose I'll have to learn to.”

Snape rose from his seat and glanced about the room, checking for anything left out of place after hours of tossing blasting curses and his son about the room. “It's getting late, we might as well set this lesson aside for night. I want to work on poisons tomorrow, you still are not demonstrating full proficiency in identifying them within other potions. If we finish early enough, we can revisit this tomorrow afternoon. Otherwise I expect you to practice before next Tuesday. I'm sure one of your flatmates can manage to throw a few hexes at you.”

Harry summoned his satchel from the corner of the room. “Yea, I'm sure they'll get a laugh out of it. They've probably already finished this subject.”

Snape shook his head. “No, this particular technique is not on the Ministry's curriculum.”

Harry paused as he was pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Then why the hell are we doing it?”

“Because it could save your life someday. Additionally, we are ahead of their schedule by several days and I decided it would be a worthwhile lesson to fill in the extra time. The block itself is a commonly known spell, but the reflection modification is something I developed several years ago. The Ministry tutors would not know of it; it is not something I have shared with others in the past. If you perfect it, however, you will be able to not only reflect curses, but precisely aim where they reflect to. Preferably at your attacker, but there are situations where another target may be chosen. But that will have to wait until you improve your control.”

“You want me to practice with... you don't mind me showing Ron and Neville then, if this is such a secret?”

Snape shrugged. “I don't care either way anymore. Those days are past. If your friends can learn to make use of it, they are welcome to it. I doubt either of them have the necessary skill, particularly Longbottom, but perhaps they'll surprise me. You'd best get home and rest, though, I will not be at all pleased if you pass out and fall into a cauldron tomorrow. Don't waste any more time worrying about the Ministry, you cannot control everything they do, nor is it your responsibility to do so.”

“Yea, I know, it's just...” Harry pulled his bag more firmly over his shoulder, turning toward the door. A hand at his shoulder stalled him again.

“Harry... there are many things which are not your responsibility.”

“I know that. I'll try not to forget again.”

“I suppose I'll just have to remind you from time to time. I can't have your mind wandering off in the middle of lessons.”

Harry nodded and reached out without turning, or looking, catching his father in a sort of half-hug. And trying not to be disappointed when the man froze up, as usual. One of these days, perhaps, they'd both be okay with this... with _all_ of this.

“Goodnight, then...”

 


End file.
